


A Beginning, of Sorts

by lovelymxloki (thegirlyoudontwanttomeet)



Series: Shatter and Burn [1]
Category: Norse Religion & Lore
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 20:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1562807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlyoudontwanttomeet/pseuds/lovelymxloki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ragnarok comes, and no one is prepared.</p>
<p>(A sort of prelude to a Marvel fanfiction I'm writing.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Beginning, of Sorts

Ragnarok. The apocalypse, Armageddon, the Death, Idunn’s cycle.

There are many names for this single moment, and many lives spent waiting for it. Yet it is all worth it, he thinks, for even after all his waiting, suffering, betrayal, it is all worth it for this moment of victory.

For others, or at least the others that know, it is nowhere near, does not resemble anything like victory. It is simply the end, the Death. The Death of Balder, the Death of peace, the Death of all. Some may go peacefully, accepting the cost of “immortality,” but for most they will fight, meeting a bitter, bloody, cold end.

Yet for the old god, who stands in the still snow and revels in the chaos, all of that is nonsense, that which could not matter less. Why should he care about those who have abhorred him, when they do not even know of their own coming deaths? Because this is not merely victory, not for the spark of Ragnarok. No, this is _freedom._

Freedom, for he has nothing left to return to. Freedom, for the hatred of the realms cannot reach him now.  Freedom, for he now may die without return.

He intends to, with chaos thrumming around him, with still snow at his feet, and with a gilded dagger in his guilt-bloodied hand, he intends to die in his moment.

It, the knife, plunges through him- armor, cloth, skin, heart- and guilt is not the only thing bloodying his fair skin. The deed is done, and he lets himself fall- just as he fell from favor, grace, love.

Loki Farbautison’s quickly cooling form disrupts the now-scarlet snow, and his voice is a broken laugh, to match his shattered soul.

_I’m free._


End file.
